


Wings over the Channel

by mosslover



Series: Love, Wings, and War [1]
Category: The Hobbit - All Media Types
Genre: Alternate Universe - World War II, Angst and Pining, Battle of Britain AU, Crash Landings, M/M, Mild Sexual Content, Unrelated Fíli and Kíli, boys falling in love, durins flying fighter airplanes, mentions of injury, mentions of war-related violence, tiny mention of homophobia, war time romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-06-02
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-04-02 14:31:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 18,208
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4063486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mosslover/pseuds/mosslover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Fili Goldsmith, a New Zealand pilot, gets assigned to an RAF squadron as the effort intensifies to defend Britain against air attacks. There, in the middle of wartime chaos, he manages to fall in love. With years of war yet to be faced,  the journey to happiness won't be easy or certain at all.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Battle of Britain

**Author's Note:**

> I wanted to cast my favorite dwarves as WWII pilots for the AU day of FiKi week 2015, and then became somewhat obsessed with looking up information about the era - the pilots, planes, RAF, and the Battle of Britain in particular. The research was absolutely fascinating. That being said, I am no history expert, and if there are any mistakes or inaccuracies (which is more than likely) please let me know!
> 
> This will probably have two more chapters, at least that is the plan right now :)

Fili had expected the possibility of many things when he was stepping off the ship, fresh out of New Zealand and onto the soil of Great Britain, where he was promptly assigned to the 54 Squadron of the RAF and given the rank of Flying Officer. Grateful that New Zealand allowed its pilots to join British units based on necessity rather than insisting on them forming their own units, he looked forward to getting into the cockpit of a Spitfire as soon as possible and taking it over the English Channel to aid in what was becoming to be known as the Battle of Britain.

He was prepared, or he thought he was, for the chaos of war – injury, death around the corner, the adrenaline rush of engaging the enemy in the air. He also expected camaraderie, perhaps laced with being teased for his accent, as he was likely to be the only kiwi in the squadron – but that he could easily deal with.

What he did not expect was to fall in love.

But there he was, walking around the air field on a breezy summer day with the soft spoken yet charismatic Squadron Leader Oakenshield, who was introducing him to the pilots and ground crew. Fili was steadily growing surer that he had already forgotten half the names he’d heard, but he shook hands and exchanged a few words with all the guys anyway. He knew he was a replacement and was likely taking a spot after someone who had not made it back from a mission, but the guys were friendly enough.

And then Oakenshield walked him to the next machine in the row of Supermarine Spitfires, where a tall brunet was gesturing animatedly and frowning, immersed deep in a discussion with one of the ground crew.

“Durin, stop harassing Sgt Gloin and come meet our new guy,” Oakenshield called out to him, and Durin stopped mid-sentence, the frown smoothing away. To his credit, Sgt Gloin didn’t look harassed, but rather sympathetic about their shared concern: damage from machine gun fire to the airplane’s wing.

“Sir,” Durin said, walking over to the two of them. As Oakenshield introduced them, Durin’s face transformed yet again from the smooth features (and they were striking features indeed) into a grin that indicated genuine delight at meeting someone new. And Fili was sure that he would not be forgetting Durin’s name anytime soon.

They went out over the Channel the very next day for an intercepting mission. It was Fili’s first enemy engagement; he was an experienced pilot, but not battle-tried, and with only a few hours of training in a Spitfire so far. He quickly grew to love the power of his new machine. The airplane deserved all the praise he’d heard from other pilots about its reliability and performance. Their encounter with eight enemy aircraft was as much of a chaos as he expected, and there were moments when he was sure this would be his only encounter – yet in the end they came out of it with some damage and some glory, and Fili learned that he could hold his own, with a bit of luck.

He also learned that day that Durin was an excellent pilot, if a bit reckless; he seemed fearless and graceful up in the air, navigating his airplane out of tight spots with ease and exhilarated whoops and excited comments over the waves of the radio telephone, which earned him a threat from the R/T operator that he would be reported for misuse of it again. It seemed it was a common occurrence. Despite this bit of rule-breaking, Durin was well on the way to become an ace with several shot down airplanes on his record already.

That night there was drinking, and Fili could very well hold his own in this field as well. In another discovery, one that made affectionate warmth spread through Fili’s chest and limbs and his face flush, he realized that Durin was a puppy when he was drunk, that he sang slightly off tune and embraced everyone and in general, was way more adorable than anyone who flew a plane with such ferocity and daring had a right to be.

Fili never expected his little crush to blossom into anything; he was here to fight a war, after all, and not to moon over his squadron mate. As days went by, Fili resigned himself to the fact that he was impossibly attracted to Durin, but also to the fact that it probably never had a chance of being reciprocated. He pushed the feelings as deep as they would go and got on with the daily unpredictable life of a fighter pilot, which was enough to deal with: the frequent missions were fraught with danger and close brushes with death, but also with the beauty of the sun reflecting on sea water, clouds swirling by, the vistas of green checkered land beneath them. There were moments of joy when he shot down his first plane, yet it was not lost on him that his enemy was a still just a person, someone’s someone who would not be coming home. Loss of life was a frequent occurrence; so was injury, downed airplanes. Once Fili was forced to crash land in a field and it pained him that his first Spitfire was beyond repair after that, but he himself came out of it with only minor injuries.

At down times, the guys played soccer or rugby or cards, but Fili also had a passion for reading, and during his occasional trips to town on an afternoon pass he never omitted to stop by the local bookstore. Then he would find a spot somewhere outside that was just warm enough and immerse himself in a novel. The guys inevitably teased him about being a bookworm, so when one afternoon Flying Officer Durin suddenly plopped down next to him and asked what Fili was reading, the kiwi suspected it to be an extension of the teasing. He replied without too much detail that it was Hemingway, A Farewell to Arms, you know, World War One, Italy. Durin nodded, stayed for a while chatting about other things, then went on his way.

But the next day Durin found him again, asked who the characters were, what were their names, and what happened so far? So Fili ventured into more detail about the fifty pages he'd read so far, all the while prepared for Durin to get bored any second because he just didn’t seem like the reading type, no offense. Yet the brunet stayed and listened intently.

Somehow these stop-bys became a habit, until Kili started openly asking where and when Fili was planning on reading, occasionally even over the R/T when they were out over the Channel, which made the operator go nuts. Fili’s reading speed slowed considerably, because Durin wanted to know everything; one day, Fili couldn’t help it and asked him, doesn’t he want to just borrow the damn book and read it on his own?

To which Durin replied that nah, he was not that great with reading, but he did love stories. However, he added, if he was annoying Fili he would stop harassing him. There was a tone of slight apprehension in Durin’s voice that Fili had not previously heard there before, but Kili needn’t have worried. Fili was not about to send Kili away; he was secretly loving spending time with him like this and was dreading being done with the novel. When he assured Kili that he didn’t mind, he was rewarded with the most delighted grin yet and he had a hard time not melting or doing something stupid like kissing the other guy.

Impossibly, miraculously, Durin beat him to that one rainy September night when they were drinking and stayed up chatting long after all the other guys had gone to bed. Suddenly there was an arm around Fili’s shoulders - which in and of itself was not so unusual when Durin’s seen the bottoms of a few pints, but then there were lips on his cheek and then on his mouth, and Fili’s heart and brain nearly exploded as frantic thoughts flooded him – he’s drunk – he’s going to realize any minute what he’s doing and freak out – oh god don’t let him stop, he tastes so good –

Durin was not horrified when he pulled away; he was blushing, of all things, and he murmured “I like your voice, Goldsmith, and I like you” into Fili’s ear and Fili just stared at him mutely until he could summon up the courage to admit his own feelings out loud as well. This time he kissed Kili first and it took them a good half hour to resurface. And when they did, it was ungodly late and they had to drag themselves each to his own bed.

The next day Fili felt this lightness inside when leaving the ground underneath for partly cloudy skies. The feeling stayed with him all through the fierce fighting that ensued when they finally located the Luftwaffe’s formation of five airplanes escorting two bombers. Fili had a tight scrape once or twice that resulted in some broken glass on the side of his windshield and a few holes in his left wing, but in the end the enemy bombers were damaged enough to be forced to turn around, with two of the escorts ending up in the sea.

As they started their own return home, Kili risked another reprimand from the R/T operator when he felt the need to ask Fili if he was finally going to finish the damn Hemingway tonight, that he was dying to find out what would become of Frederic and Catherine now that they were in Switzerland. Fili answered, yes, that was the plan, and get off the waves, Durin. Sure enough, the operator came on to say, “Number 5, consider this a warning” to Kili, and Fili shook his head and snickered.

So when he heard Kili’s voice come through his radio again, Fili had a reminder for him to shut up ready on the tip of his tongue before he registered what Kili was saying.

“This is Number 5, I believe I’m having engine trouble.”

Fili looked over, and there was smoke trailing behind Kili’s machine. They were still over the channel, coast barely visible in the distance, and if Kili’s engine stalled, he’d be forced to bail out into the sea. Fili’s heart clenched – it was not the worst that could happen, but it was bad enough.

“Can you make it to base, number 5?” the operator asked, and Kili’s voice, laced with concern, answered, “Don’t think it’ll last – preparing to exit the aircraft.”

Biting his lip, Fili watched as Kili tilted his Spitfire so he could slide out safely; it was a dangerous maneuver, but it was the only way and Kili appeared to have gotten out unhurt. In a last graceful arc, the empty airplane nosedived into the sea and disappeared in a geyser of seawater and smoke, while above, Kili opened his parachute mid-fall and followed, his descent slowing down. Inevitably, he hit the sea a few moments later.

Eyes glued to the struggle Kili was going through in the water, Fili slid out of his flight’s formation and circled lower. “Number 6 here, I’m staying with Durin,” he informed his mates and the command at the airfield, voice tight in an effort to control it.

“What’s your fuel level, number 6?” the operator asked, and Fili spared the gauge a glance. “Not great.” Meanwhile, down in the waves, Kili had managed with some difficulty to untangle himself from parachute lines and pulled out the folded dingy. Slowly, Durin, Fili spoke to the struggling pilot in his head as if there was a chance Kili could hear him. But Kili seemed to have remembered the instructions well and didn’t rush the process; the dingy inflated and he climbed into it, lying sprawled, exhausted, and probably chilled to the bone from the cold Channel water, on the flat bottom.

“We’ve locked your coordinates, number 6. Return to base.” It took Fili a while to register the operator’s voice through the haze of adrenaline and frantic worry, but in the end he understood. Logic told him it was the only course of action right now unless he wanted to end up the down there alongside his mate, but his heart was telling him to stay.

It was one of the hardest decisions he’d ever had to make. But with one last circle over the downed pilot - his mate and possibly more than just that now, with heart tearing to shreds inside his chest from worry and guilt, he headed for the shore, hoping whatever life boat the command was sending out would hurry the fuck up.

What followed were some of the longest and most nerve-destroying hours of Fili’s twenty-eight years of life.


	2. Hell and Honeymoon

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone who read the first chapter and sent kudos and lovely comments!!! I really appreciate all of that, it was a large part of what kept me going :)
> 
> Now, the adventure continues! Enjoy.

By the time Fili landed back at the airfield and jumped out of his hastily stopped aircraft, it had started raining and winds were picking up. Cursing the weather, Fili sprinted to the command room where the rest of his mates were already waiting, tense and anxious. Worry ate a path through his nervous system as he badgered his friends for updates on Durin’s rescue, but there was really nothing new to report except that the boat was out and clouds were low over the Channel.

Mentally pushing the life boat in Kili’s direction was probably a useless exercise, but Fili gave himself to it anyway. He didn’t want to think about what could happen; he wanted to entirely skip over the fact that nightfall was imminent in the next two hours and rain could start over the Sea at any moment, reducing visibility even further. Sure, Kili could shoot a flare, he should have several on him, but they could fail or be missed and then he’d be doomed to spend the night out there on the sea in the tiny inflatable boat, praying it won’t capsize. With his clothes soaked and cold from the initial plunge into the chilly waves, he was at the risk of hypothermia, and each hour would make things only worse.

An hour later, with no news forthcoming and Fili’s heart rate approaching drastic levels, squadron leader Oakenshield ordered Fili to remove himself to the officers’ mess hall and eat dinner. A desperate laugh threatened to bubble out of the blond pilot’s throat at the absurd idea of actually eating, but Oakenshield looked firm, and Fili had long since learned that his commander’s soft-spoken manner did not necessarily mean that Oakenshield was a soft man; the opposite in fact was true. Fili knew protesting would be useless, so he went, his squadron mates trailing along since Oakenshield included them in the order.

With a loaded tray in front of him on the table, Fili stared into distance past Ori, one of the newest pilots in the squadron. A few bites of meatloaf was all he had managed before they turned into what felt like jagged rocks in his stomach while thoughts circled inside his brain like birds of doom. He tried reminding himself that Durin had just about the best chance he could possess to be rescued in one piece, or rescued at all; his plane hadn’t plummeted down to the ground in an explosion, he hadn’t gotten stuck in the aircraft or been shot down over the continent. Somehow, not even rational thinking could calm the frantic pounding in Fili’s head and chest.

Oakenshield could kiss Fili’s kiwi ass if he had any more objections to him being in the commands room. The blond pilot pushed away from the wooden table, ignoring his food and his friends’ inquiring glances, and he strode out into the drizzle that had settled over the airfield. He frowned at it, setting his coat’s collar up against the tiny but pervasive droplets that danced this way and that in the wind. He was not going to sit and pretend to eat; he needed to know. The whole organization of air-sea rescue was still new and chaotic, and he would have no peace until Kili was safely on board of the boat, back on shore, back at the airfield.

The room was quiet now; only a few airplanes were up, mainly as look outs, and a few were expected back from escorting bombers over France. Oakenshield was still there, eyebrows tight and eyes narrow, but he acknowledged Fili with a glance and raised no protests. Just as well. Fili rested against the railing on the upper level and waited.

A communication came through to the R/T operator and Fili’s heartbeat instantly intensified, but it was the bomber escorts checking in. They had lost two planes on the mission – the pilots dead or captured, they didn’t know. Guilt swept through Fili as the news was conveyed to the room; fretting over Durin so much seemed unforgivable when other men had much less hope.

But as the waiting stretched on, the worry returned full force.

Until, at eight-thirty, there was another communication received. Oakenshield and Fili both looked up when a familiar name sounded through the room.

Flying Officer Durin had been picked up by the rescue boat just before nightfall.

Fili’s heart imploded and he clamped his mouth shut to contain the evidence.

 

“So, how did the book end? You finished it, right?” was the first thing that Durin asked when Fili was finally allowed into sick quarters to see the rescued pilot. It was close to eleven at night; the room he was lead into was quiet and smelled of iodine. The question threw him off balance and he spluttered: “Are you out of you mind?”

Durin looked pale but alright. He gave Fili a mock-offended look, then softened it with a faint grin. “What, you had plenty of time to read while I was out having a swim…”

Fili shook his head with a budding smile. “Yeah, I guess I did, but that was the last thing on my mind. I’m sorry to disappoint you.”

“You can make it up to me and just read me the rest of the book while I’m stuck here,” Kili suggested. His lips, Fili noted, were still a bit too bloodless for comfort.

A young nurse, auburn hair tucked under a cap, interrupted them just then with a tray of food and a thermometer. “If you could stand aside, sir, I need to tend to Officer Durin and his dinner, now that he is finally settled in.” She smiled pointedly at the blond, and then at Kili, setting the steaming food carefully down on the table between beds. “Perhaps you could visit in the morning?”

Fili had no intention of leaving, and Kili looked a little unsettled at the idea of it as well. Strictly speaking there were no set visiting hours in the sick quarters, but it was night time, and they could just as easily shuck him out so he wouldn’t disturb other patients, even if there weren’t many. But he’d only just gotten in – there was no way he was going to wish Durin a cheerful good night now and waltz out. He put his cap down on the washed-down blanket of the neighboring bed and smiled up at the nurse. “I won’t stay long, but I only just got here.”

She pursed her lips and made a show of getting the thermometer ready, giving Kili a bright smile as she fussed with his shirt to start the temperature reading. Kili didn’t protest, but Fili noticed a faint flush rising into the brunet’s cheeks at the nurse’s overdone sweetness towards him. When their eyes met, Fili gestured towards the door with his head, a silent question whether he should go, but Kili shook his head with a pleading-puppy look that Fili wouldn’t be able to refuse under any circumstances. 

“Hold that in for a few minutes,” the nurse said to Kili, “and in the meantime you need to eat while your soup is hot. I think you might need help with the state of those poor hands of yours…”

For the first time, Fili realized that Kili’s hands were wrapped in bandages. He raised an inquiring glance to Kili, who caught his gaze and shrugged. “Just burns from the parachute lines, it’s fine-“

“They will be fine, but you have to be careful with them,” the nurse cooed at him in a sugary tone. She picked up the bowl from the tray and started feeding Kili spoonfuls of hot broth. The injured pilot looked mildly offended at such treatment.

Fili cleared his throat. “Um, miss, if you’re busy, I’ll help him eat-“

Her eyes never left Kili’s face as she answered, the sweetness of her tone a little forced, “Oh that’s nice of you, but all the other patients are sleeping, and it’s my duty to ensure that officer Durin get his strength back as soon as possible…” she trailed off and lifted the spoon to Kili’s mouth again.

A man a few beds from them started whimpering, the small keening noise carrying through the dim room. Fili wasn’t sure, but he thought he could detect a trace of disappointment or even displeasure run across the nurse’s features. She put the bowl down on the tray and stood up. “I’ll check on sergeant Bowman and be right back,” she winked at Kili, the spoon clattering into the half-eaten soup.

Fili turned to follow her with his gaze as she walked swiftly between the rows of beds to the moaning man, then looked back at Kili with a questioning eyebrow. 

Durin looked a little moody over being helpless, but he smiled. “You can finish the job if you want…”

“Your nurse might pout if I do,” Fili observed levelly, but he switched from his bed to Durin’s and took the bowl from the bedside table so Kili could finish his dinner. It was just as well that he had a task to occupy himself with, he thought as he clumsily transferred the broth to Kili’s mouth, because mostly he just wanted to lean down and kiss the blue-tinged lips until all warmth returned to them. He wished he could argue that it was a form of medical treatment for hypothermia.

 

Despite his convictions about the benefits of transferring body heat by direct contact, even if limited to devouring Kili’s lips, Fili held himself in check. His hospital visits were strictly friendly, dedicated mostly to finishing the Hemingway that had brought them together and talking quietly in between. Kili seemed cautious as well, content to listen as Fili’s hushed voice gave life to the words on the last fifty pages. The ending brought them little comfort, and Fili wondered what was next for him and Durin, if anything was. 

The maybe of their relationship, suspended between them since that long late-night kiss, changed fluidly into a decisive yes as soon as Kili was released from the sick quarters. His hands were still marred with angry red lines but his healthy color had returned and he was positively bursting with energy, as if the two days of recuperation had built up an excess of needs in him that demanded to be attended to. He wasn’t going to be cleared to fly for another day or two, so the desire to get inside the cockpit a new Spitfire machine had to stay suppressed, but Oakenshield did assign one to him, and Kili spent a whole afternoon checking it out. It was a newer version of the airplane, and while the changes were small – improved wing design, additions to the engine to help prevent fuel starvation in a dive – it was enough to keep Kili occupied for hours.

Along with the urge to fly again, Kili seemed eager for Fili to pick up another book, and he badgered the kiwi about it periodically. Which meant about every twenty-five minutes when they were together. What was the next book he was going to read? Could they just skip the whole ‘you read and then tell me what happened’ part, and instead just read together? Can he help pick out a book? How would Fili feel about detective novels, or maybe was there another Hemingway? His enthusiasm made Fili laugh, and that was a thing to be treasured at a time of war. There was precious little to laugh about, to be excited for.

Inevitably, the day after Kili’s release they got themselves an afternoon pass and drove to town, where Kili kept them in the one tiny bookstore for over an hour. Fili mostly just watched with amusement – a sentiment shared with the white-haired lady who stood behind the counter. They walked out with five books, and that was after Fili reigned the tall brunet in repeatedly, otherwise they would have left with about a hundred more. On the way home, burning the remaining time till they had to return, Kili drove them through the sunny countryside. At a deserted stretch of the road, between a field and a grove of trees, he parked the car and it took all of five seconds for Fili to understand, turn to Durin with a grin, and finally, finally, check if those perfect lips were truly as warm as they should be. 

They were. But one could not be so sure after just a quick inspection. And who cares that they were twenty minutes late returning to the airfield; Fili was a thorough kind of guy.

 

As the fierce fighting over England and the Channel continued through September, Fili’s life seemed to be reduced to a strange sequence of events that resembled routine only very loosely. Sure, there was sleep, and meals, and off time, but over all, the unpredictability of their assignments still hung over the days like a cloud that you knew could rain, hail, or thunder down on you at any moment. They flew on missions frequently, victories not quite so jubilant for the friends they often cost, and losses heavy, always heavy. Replacement pilots arrived usually fresh out of training and seemed to last shorter and shorter as the Battle of Britain progressed. It was grueling to watch. 

Compared to that, the time Fili could spend with Durin – who was now officially a fighter ace with six confirmed downed airplanes – were mostly quiet, unless they were drinking with their squadron mates or running after a ball on the lawn. But whenever there was a chance, they’d find a calm corner of the mess hall or common room (definitely not the pub, there were no quiet places there) and Fili would resume reading wherever they last left off. If they knew their room mates were likely to be out for most of the night, they’d read in either of their rooms; usually Fili’s because he shared with Dwalin, who stomped so loud they could hear him approach from a mile off, whereas Kili lived with Norbert a.k.a. Nori, who walked as lightly as an elf.

At first they sat strictly side by side while reading even if they were alone, but as the number of turned pages climbed, their general posture gradually shifted as well. If Fili had any hopes that they could keep these times touch-free and therefore risk-free, the hopes were blown to bits as soon as Durin ran his hands through the kiwi’s blond hair one evening. Fili’s voice faltered at that and he almost dropped the book. Kili chuckled and withdrew his hand, and Fili was unable to stop the noise of protest that rushed out of his throat. He was well and truly lost.

A raid on the airfield in late September was another blow to their already heavily battered squadron. Fili and a few others attempted to take off with their Spitfires so they could fight back against the attackers, but a bomb hit right in front of them and damaged the airplanes, scattering injuries among the pilots. Fili came off fairly lightly with a deep laceration in his scalp, but Nori, Kili’s room mate, suffered burns on his legs and arms while trying to escape from his overturned aircraft. 

The order to send the squadron up to northern Yorkshire for rest and recovery came as a godsend, especially after the raid. Exhaustion was set deeply in all the men by then, and a few months away from action was an unexpected and welcome change. Maybe it was not exactly vacation season, with autumn well on the way, but that didn’t matter to any of them; the calm and quiet of the new airfield and the nearby ancient village was enough in itself. Sure, some of them might have preferred a more bustling location, but for Kili and Fili especially, this time was like a strange sort of sneaky honeymoon. There was still some training and classes, a daily military cycle to adhere to, but there was also a lot of time to spend at their leisure, with their mates and alone. And they took advantage of it.

Now that they were away from the battles, something eased between the two of them. They spoke more often of themselves, of their past, while still carefully skirting around the talk of future – even here, in the land of moors, they couldn’t forget what they’d be going back to after the year rolled away and 1941 rolled in; they were yet in the midst of a war, and while they had hopes, wild, uncertain ones, they both preferred not to speak of them aloud. Instead they read and made frequent trips to the next big town to shop for supplies and books, post letters, visit the pub or walk along the river. On the way back, inevitably – and sometimes already on the way there – they’d find a quiet spot where no one could see, and there give in to the ever present desire to be close, to touch and kiss for as long as they dared. It was lucky that they needed new books often.

 

Inevitably, the time of rest drew to an end, and in mid-February, the squadron traveled back south to their previous post. The focus of their missions has changed as the war strategy evolved, but the gist of it was still the same. 

Towards summer, Fili, with a newly acquired Distinguished Flying Cross pinned to his uniform that match Durin’s from a few months ago, also somehow gained an unsettling feeling of premonition. This pace they were in, these frequent rendezvous with fate – he couldn’t shake the suspicion that it was just a matter of time before something happened, before a blow came that ended it all: a life, a friendship, a love affair. As days passed and fate kept passing them over, the fear only grew; they couldn’t keep going on like this forever, it seemed to him. 

Something would happen, to either of them, something they couldn’t stop or foresee. He hung on to every moment of quiet and privacy, kissing Durin with the desperation of a drowning man and pulling him close to himself to remember the warmth, the whispers. Kili would ask him if anything was the matter, but he’d just shake his head in response, unable to share that heavy feeling and just as unable to shake it.

It looked as if his premonition had been correct one late August day when they were coming back from intercepting the Luftwaffe’s attempt to bombard a nearby town. Kili’s Spitfire had sustained such heavy damage that he was barely able to stay airborne, yet he decided to glide the aircraft as far as he could. He made it almost all the way to the airfield before being forced to land, and it was a rough one.

The plane plowed through the soft ground of a pasture, skidding and twisting, and slowing down but not enough to avoid meeting a stone wall of a barn at the end of the pasture head-on. Fili thought for a fact that Kili wouldn’t be making it out of the wreck and his heart was sinking, but before he and Dwalin could land as hastily as they dared behind him, Kili was already trying to crawl out of the squished cockpit in case the remaining fuel ignited. Dwalin reached him first, grabbing Kili under his arms in order to drag him away from the crash site. The Spitfire smoked and hissed, but didn’t explode.

And this time, seeing Kili with both legs wrapped in bandages and a cut across his cheek, Fili couldn’t help himself: it was a miracle that Durin was alive and not more severely injured. When all was quiet in the sick bay, he leaned in and kissed the other man with all the force of his pent up relief. He meant for it to be a quick kiss, since Kili was bruised and had to hurt almost everywhere, and Fili loathed the idea of causing any more pain to him. Moreover, that sugary-voiced, adoring nurse from before had a shift tonight, and she had the habit of checking on Kili every five minutes, as if her smiles were the only thing that would ensure his recovery.

But all was quiet as Fili breathed in against Kili’s scruffy jaw, and the injured pilot slung an arm over his back to keep him close, groaning and grinning at the same time. “Why do you keep doing this to me,” Fili sighed against him, and Kili shook his head. “Nah, don’t worry, you can’t get rid of me so easily. And I prefer not to switch places with you.”

With Durin recovering, Fili thought maybe he’d catch a breather from worry. For the next two and a half weeks, it looked like he might get his wish, with Kili tucked away in a hospital bed and the various nurses hovering over his handsome form, at least one of them was mostly safe from more harm. 

So when the fateful blow came, it came out of the left field of course. 

 

It was supposed to be Kili’s last day in the sick quarters. Fili was sitting outside with the other lads, wondering when the brunet might finally get released, when a young sergeant arrived to inform him that the Squadron Leader wanted a word with him. That was not an uncommon occurrence, so he thought nothing of it as he got up from the grass and headed over to the headquarters building. 

Oakenshield didn’t look pleased when Fili stepped into his dusty office, in fact, he looked quite bemused. Not angry, Fili noted with some relief, but still, racking his brain for the cause of being called here for a possible reprimand, he couldn’t pinpoint anything that would warrant this look on his commander’s clean-shaven face.

“Sit,” Oakenshield said curtly, picking up a pen and rolling it between his fingers before looking out the small window towards the airfield and then back at the confused pilot. “I had to call you in because… Someone has brought to my attention a rumor, or rather an observation that… that requires me to take action.”

Fili swallowed with a heavy feeling forming in his stomach, the rest of his body strangely weightless as he lowered himself into the chair in front of Oakenshield’s desk. The chair creaked as he spoke. “Sir.”

Oakenshild quirked his eyebrows and said gruffly, “you have been seen paying certain… unsuitable attentions to Flying Officer Durin.”

Fili blanched and then colored fiercely, an admission in itself. Holy mother of god, who had seen them? And when? He cast his mind about in a panic, staring at the commander while trying to control his features as much as possible. He wanted to ask, but couldn’t get anything more than a raspy repetition of “Sir-” past his lips.

Oakenshield registered the changes in Fili’s face and took a deep, long, exasperated breath, pursing his lips. “A nurse saw you two kissing while Durin was at medical with his legs,” he informed the distressed blond, “and felt it necessary to inform me.”

Two weeks later? They only kissed there that one time, so why now? Fili was pretty sure he knew which nurse it must have been… that cute one with auburn hair who was all swoony around Kili, fussing over him with extra sweet smiles. Fili licked his lips and sat, unmoving, while Oakenshield sighed and leaned forward over his papers.

“Since these inclinations between the two of you have come to light, I have no choice but to have you assigned to a different squadron, Goldsmith. I have requested it already. Expect a transfer in two or three weeks.”

Fili’s eyes widened. He felt as though someone had punched him in the gut, pushing all air out of his lungs from the shock. He wanted to say something, deny things, but his mind was blank.

“Sir.”

It came out with a tiny little crack. Fili balled his hands into fists to keep his fingers from shaking. This couldn’t be happening. Damn the nurse… What did she hope to achieve? Get Fili in trouble so she could keep making eyes at Kili? He was disgusted, angry. Leaving here… alone… it seemed unfathomable.

Oakenshield, though, was done holding in his apparent revulsion. What else would he feel in the face of such information? The squadron leader threw his pen down on the table and barked. “Oh for god’s sake, Goldsmith. What did you expect? And what do you expect me to do? I have no choice but to do this, since you couldn’t be discreet enough about this… relationship. I will not include the reason for your transfer in the orders, and it will not go on your record, but you need to be careful in the future.”

Fili inhaled sharply, shocked. W-what? He had expected disgust and reprimands, not admonishment for not being more secretive. His mind reeled, and he stared openmouthed for a moment before lowering his eyes and nodding. “Yes. Sir.”

A growl came from across the table, and when Fili looked up again, Oakenshield was shaking his head in exasperation. “I hate paperwork. There is too much goddamned paperwork in this war. You chose a bad time when my secretary is on leave.” The Squadron Leader’s desk was indeed a mess; he picked up the pen again and shuffled some papers out of the way, revealing two leave passes. “Before Baggins left, he reminded me that both you and Durin are overdue for some leave. So before I have you assigned elsewhere – and I hate doing that as well, Goldsmith, just so you know, because you’re a damn good pilot – you both get a three days’ leave. Starting tomorrow.”

Fili sat there feeling as if he was made of stone on the outside and a raging storm of emotions on the inside. He watched in mute astonishment as Oakenshield signed the two passes with quick, jerky movements of his pen and threw them towards Fili’s edge of the table. Fili met his eye. “Sir. Thank you, sir.”

For a moment, the other man’s gaze softened. “Go somewhere on the shore. There’s plenty of other soldiers taking leave everywhere… But for god’s sake, be more discreet this time.” Fili bit his lip, nodding. He picked up the two rough squares of paper with Fili’s and Kili’s names typed up on them. The ink on Oakenshield’s signature was still shiny. He could hardly believe it. “Sir, I-“

But Oakenshield held up his hand. “No. I don’t want to hear it. I am not unsympathetic towards your and Durin’s… problem, but I can’t do anything about the transfer. The nurse insinuated you were pushing yourself on Durin, and would spread rumors of that if you stayed. While I do not believe that you were exploiting him, I cannot allow possible rumors to affect morale in my squadron. You are dismissed.”

Fili saluted his commander and walked outside, knees shaking and mind in chaos. 

How on Earth was he going to break this to Durin?


	3. Boldness Endures Anything

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for kudos, comments and support! I was planning on making this a 3 chapter fic, but the first part of this update grew to an unexpected length, so I decided to alter my plan to a 4 chapter fic :) Hopefully the next update will behave itself :D
> 
> "Boldness endures anything", the title of this chapter, is the actual motto of 54 Squadron (or Audax Omnia Perpeti in latin, as written on their badge).
> 
> Please excuse any mistakes, factual, spelling or any other sort (and feel free to let me know about them)! Enjoy :)
> 
> Enjoy :)

Clutching the leave passes in his hand, Fili Goldsmith stood outside the headquarters building, dazzled by sunlight. Too numb to process all that Oakenshield had just said, he let the breeze gust and flit around him, making the two rough squares of paper flutter between his forefinger and thumb as if they were dancing. He did not know from which direction to approach the new situation. 

Before he could muster the will to move, to think rationally, someone walked into his field of vision. He knew right away who it was, without turning his head: Flying Officer Durin, favoring his right leg slightly but otherwise mended and released back to duty, had apparently decided to give him no time at all to prepare for the telling.

“Hey, the guys told me you went to see Oakenshield, so I figured I’d come wait for you.” Kili sounded cheerful, almost bouncy after a few weeks’ confinement in the sick quarters. 

“Hey.” Fili met his eyes, then immediately shied away from the warm hazel. He didn’t want to take away the joy, the lightness in there. Could he only tell Kili about the passes, and tell him of his reassignment later? 

But Kili had already caught on to the hesitation, even if it was minimal. “What is it? What did Oakenshield want with you?” There was a note of apprehension in his voice, and Fili chewed on his lip before lifting his hand to hold the papers in front of Kili’s face. “He, uh… he said we were overdue some leave. You and I. Gave us three days, starting tomorrow.”

Kili almost broke into a whoop of celebration, but Fili’s manner, his lack of excitement, stopped him. “That’s… great?” he said uncertainly. “Is that – is that all?” He transferred his weight onto his left leg, relieving the right, and Fili looked up at him, meeting his eye properly this time. “No. It’s not. I will tell you – but not here.”

 

To say that Kili was enraged would have been a gross understatement. Fili was well aware that there was a fire in the brunet’s veins that could flare up and burn bright and deadly in battle, that he could be fierce. Now, though, sitting on a wooden fence at the far end of the airfield, away from anyone else's ears, Kili’s rage was of a different sort: contained and helpless and far more personal than against a foreign army. Fili worried that the younger man was going to injure his legs anew, since he looked like he needed to kick something very badly and the hefty fence posts seemed to be offering themselves.

Fili wanted to soothe him, but he found that he could not; his own anger blocked all the pathways that would enable him to do so. He watched mutely, leave passes tucked in his shirt pocket to keep them safe. They were all that they had left in this new reality.

“I’m. Going. To. Strangle. That. Cow...” Kili ground through his teeth, pushing away from the fence rail he had been gripping with bloodless knuckles. Fili shared his sentiment wholeheartedly, even if he wasn't too proud to admit it. He felt guilty for having wanted that kiss, for allowing an indulgence that had ultimately given them away.

Exhausted, Kili plopped down hard on his bottom in the grass, groaning. “It’s my fault, Fili, I should have… I should have promised her something, I didn’t… god, I had no idea she had seen us, or I would have done it differently.”

Fili knelt next to him, frowning. “What are you talking about?”

Kili shook his head despondently, fingers picking at grass blades in restlessness. “You’ve seen her, right? The way she was always so sweet and simpering, hovering over me-“ He growled. “Two nights ago, she got really close, it was late… she started touching me, differently – she tried to kiss me. I sort of blew up at her, told her she was out of her mind… She was offended, embarrassed, but – I had no idea she was also vindictive, that she had something to use against us, or I would have-“

“Neither of us knew,” Fili said quietly. “And if you had known, I still hope you wouldn’t have let her –“

Kili shrugged. “Dammit, I don’t know. If it would have prevented this?“

“No.” Fili felt something stir deep in him, something protective and a little bit possessive, and Kili looked up at his tone, holding his gaze with a grim smile. It did nothing to mollify his anger.

“She’s going to know my mind,” he promised darkly. “I’m going to tell her exactly what I think about her.” 

“Kili-“ Fili tried to pacify at least that last thought, because there was no need for more drama; it was bad as it was, and he wanted no more trouble for either of them. Oakenshield knowing was enough, with his indignation and strange sympathy. Of course there was no guarantee that the nurse wouldn’t babble to anyone else, but he was fairly sure that Oakenshield strongly discouraged her from it, since any further accusations might incur more hated paperwork.

“Oh I’m telling her, Goldsmith. She’s going to be very sorry,” Kili informed him, and Fili had no strength to protest left in him. They sat together in helpless misery for some time, until clouds gathered over their heads and started releasing droplets of cool water down on them.

 

If it wasn’t for the shadow of impending separation, the unexpected leave they were granted would have been a perfect respite from the constant danger and need for secrecy that dictated their lives. Not that taking off from the base changed that much: no peaceful landscape existed within driving distance where they could stroll on the beach hand in hand and kiss wherever they fancied. Besides, most places could still come under attack from German bombers at any random time and beaches were closed with defenses mounted there in case of an invasion. A strictly platonic stroll in the sand seemed out of the question as well.

Still, they headed for one of the shore towns, taking their chances. They were able to get a room in a second hotel where they stopped, although the matron informed them with great apologies that she only had one room left, a small one at that, and would they mind sharing? Kili tried not to look delighted over the offer, schooling his face into a benevolent expression of concession at the last moment. When they both assured her that they didn’t mind, she smiled with relief and told them that since three weeks ago the town’s beach was open each morning from seven-thirty till nine-thirty and in the afternoons as well. She showed them their third-floor room, which really was barely large to fit them both, and wished them a pleasant stay.

Their window looked down onto the main street and towards the sea where twilight would be gathering soon. Kili gazed out for a moment before turning away from the view and pointing at the two narrow beds separated by four feet of wood floor and a small cherry dresser. “How are we going to make that work?” he asked, and Fili smiled and shrugged. “Maybe I’ll just sleep on top of you.”

Kili grinned. “I’m about as long as the bed, maybe a bit longer. If you can make it work, I’d welcome it.”

“Right, until you push me off in the middle of the night,” Fili laughed.

“Only if you toss too much.”

“That depends on how comfortable a bed you make…”

“I’ll wear you out so you don’t care,” Kili said in a low, charged voice, and suddenly there was not enough air in the room for either of them as they stared at each other. Reality seeped back with an urgent reminder: their time was running out, and quickly. Suddenly, every second that passed was a tangible loss that Fili felt almost physically. 

Before he knew it, Durin was holding his face and kissing his lips for all he was worth, filling the seconds with fire as they slipped by. Fili pulled him down onto one of the beds; it was indeed barely long enough to contain the tall brunet, a fact they worked around by wrapping their legs about each other. 

An hour later, they stumbled out for dinner and drinks in order to appear as much as the other soldiers who were here for the night or for their leave. A cool summer evening greeted them. The main street bore some signs of bombing damage, but most of it had been cleared away and repairs started; it was obvious it hadn’t been recent or extensive. There were a few lively pubs on the street and quite a few people about, but the two of them stayed out only for as long as was strictly necessary to avoid raising suspicions, in case anyone noticed that they preferred to spend their time in the confines of their small shared room. And after two beers, Fili found that he couldn’t give a damn anymore about other people, because every look, every fleeting touch from Kili only stoked the fire in him that they had ignited and only partially appeased earlier. They finished their third pint in a bit of a hurry.

With the window cracked open so that some street noise and cool sea breeze were allowed in, they made love for the first time. It could have been awkward, and Fili was afraid that he’d be riddled with nerves, but the three pints had eased that all away. Catching up on a year's worth of want, they touched and kissed and worshiped each other. When all the noise of the street had long since died down and dawn was not far off, Fili made good on his promise and fell asleep on top of Kili. The brunet, despite his earlier warning, wound an arm decisively around the older pilot and kept him close for what was left of the night.

If a few muscles were stiff in the morning and a few limbs had lost feeling, neither of them thought it worth mentioning. It was too late to go to the beach, but they hadn’t missed breakfast at least. Afterwards, they explored the town, shopping, having lunch by the harbor, almost falling asleep in the park on a bench under the protection of a sprawling oak. They returned to their room to finish the nap and then Fili read a chapter of Great Gatsby to a bare-chested Durin who was draped over him, running distracting fingers over Fili's own unclothed torso. When they slipped under the waist of his trousers, Fili’s voice wavered and he stopped reading, only to be challenged by the brunet to stick to his task. Fili found he was unable to connect letters into words when the slim digits wrapped themselves around his length, and Durin, mercifully, didn’t tease or challenge him anymore.

Their visit to the beach later on was far from the relaxing activity one would expect. Pillboxes had been built into the beach, and some sections were cordoned off with barbed wire. Armed Home Guard members patrolled here, yet people were still using the opportunity to take a stroll along the shore for the few hours it was allowed. Fili and Kili stayed a little while, boots digging into the sand as they looked out at the sea over the various fortifications. The overall result was rather depressing, and they soon turned back to the town to find a place to eat supper.

Their first night had been the culmination of a year of waiting and not daring to take the risk. The night that followed was like creating a vault of memories and moments to carry them through the rest of the war, or till whatever end awaited either of them. Fili was not a fatalist, but it was impossible to ignore the ever-present knowledge that one or the other might not see the end of the war; in fact, they might both be dead before the month or the year was out. They did not speak of this possibility – why state the obvious? – but it made Fili kiss the man in his arms harder, stay awake longer, caress him more attentively than he otherwise might. Or perhaps he would feel as desperately in love with Durin under any circumstances? He would never know. 

There was a massive pit of pain right under Fili’s heart, and it was growing.

 

An anxious time followed after their return. Fili waited for the inevitable summoning to the squadron leader's office, but it did not come for a whole week. In the meantime, they flew two missions, the second one of which landed them in fierce aerial combat with a large number of Germans. Durin engaged in some spectacular flying and managed to get one kill and a partial, while Fili got his R/T antennae shot off and a bullet graze on his shoulder, but thankfully the hits did do not much other damage on him or the plane. Upon landing at the airfield, Kili insisted that he had to go get himself checked as soon as he spotted Fili’s Irvin jacket torn and stained with blood, but he himself didn't venture inside the sick quarters building, claiming that he’d had some very ugly private words with a certain auburn-haired nurse recently and probably shouldn’t show his face in there in case it was her shift. Fili gave an exasperated sigh over all of it – the stupid injury, Kili’s admission, everything. 

Maybe it had been premonition on Kili's part, because as soon as he got settled in a chair in one of the treatment rooms to wait, jacket off and shirt open enough to reveal the injury, it was the very same nurse who appeared in the doorway. Stopping in her tracks, she went white and then red in the face, hesitating while Fili stared at her. He swallowed the sudden urge to shout at her to get the hell out, or to get the hell out himself - it was just a superficial scratch, barely worth the medical attention or this encounter.

The nurse set her teeth and walked all the way up to him, slamming her tray with supplies down on the table with so much force that the bottle of disinfectant toppled over; she picked it back up and began to clean Fili's wound with a lack of consideration that could only be deliberate. Fili bit the inside of his mouth, certain that the pain his shoulder had been causing him before he came in was nothing compared to how much it was going to hurt after she was done with him. He was determined to sit the treatment out in mute rage and not give her the satisfaction of a reaction, but then she failed to keep her own mouth shut. 

She only got as far as a low, hateful, "You are a disgusting fre-" before Fili interrupted her.

"Say one more word and I'm going to strangle you." He was reasonably sure that he would not follow up on his words were she to speak, but threatening a woman still felt wholly wrong. Disgusted with the situation, he snatched out of her grasp the bandage she had just picked up off her tray and he slapped it over the aching, agitated wound with about as much finesse and care as he expected of her. She made a squeak of protest, but that was all; he fixed his shirt and grabbed his jacket and stood up to leave, and she took a few backwards steps out of his way. The square of gauze fell off Fili's shoulder before the door even slammed behind him, but he couldn't be bothered to give a damn.

 

The next day, while discussing the progress of the repairs to his plane, the summons came from Oakenshield. The squadron leader silently handed him orders when he arrived, and Fili glanced down to see the details – reporting to No. 64 squadron, currently stationed in Scotland, in eight days’ time. There was no need to discuss this anymore, except – 

“What is the official reason for the transfer, sir?” he asked his commander. 

“It’s listed as a personal request.” Oakenshield eyed him with a stern face. “So kindly invent something suitable to tell your old and new colleagues, should they ask.”

“Yes, sir.” He wasn’t sure he could bear standing in the stuffy office for one more second, and he blurted out: “Am I dismissed?”

It surprised them both, but Oakenshield didn’t comment on it. Instead, he stood up, walked around his desk (Baggins must have returned from his leave, because it was considerably neater than last time), and extended his hand to Fili. “Good luck, Goldsmith.”

Fili shook the offered hand, failing to conjure up any expression whatsoever. “Thank you, sir.” They saluted each other. Oakenshield narrowed his eyes, speaking one more time and not without compassion. “Boldness endures anything. Remember that.”

The blond pilot nodded and walked out. It was time to tell the guys.

 

Fili had often wondered what their squadron mates thought about his and Durin’s friendship; if they had noted how close the two had become and how much time they spent together. The two of them never stopped hanging out with the others; they still did their fair share of drinking, playing cards, and sitting around with the rest of the squadron (not to mention flying and fighting). The guys had teased them both about the reading arrangement at first, but since none of them were real bastards, the fun-poking eventually tapered off and everyone accepted that Durin and Goldsmith seemed to be lost in books for large amounts of their downtime. Did any of them have an inkling that their friendship extended past the regular limits to something different, deeper – and unacceptable to many?

Coming up with a reason that he could possibly give the guys for this transfer was not easy, and in the end all that Fili wanted to convey was that it had nothing to do with his squadron mates. He dreaded what they would say, but when it came to it, they were surprised and saddened, but the dreaded battery of questions didn't happen, as if they senses and respected Fili's unwillingness to explain. It was wartime after all, and many strange decisions were being made. The last night before his departure, there was raucous drinking in his honor, singing, and much back-slapping and camaraderie. Kili didn’t join in the singing, but he stayed close the whole night, until the two of them were the last ones up.

Kili drew him outside then, behind the farthest of the plane hangars. They stood for a long time in one last embrace, one that they could allow to be as intimate as they needed. Tomorrow morning, they would be friends, squadron mates saying goodbye; tonight, it was them as lovers.

And finally even their private farewell could not be prolonged anymore. It was that kind of late at night that was spilling into early morning. Every minute that passed, Fili cursed himself more for not finding the words he wanted to say, the ones that would express how heavy and frantic and angry his heart was. He wanted assurances he couldn’t have; he wanted them written down, stamped and signed and guaranteed, but there were none, there was just this moment that was quickly wasting away. 

“We have to go to sleep,” he said finally. It was the last thing in the world he wanted to say.

“I know.” Kili sounded resigned, defeated, but in the next moment, there was conviction in his voice. “I depend on you, you know that? Write to me? I’m horrible with replying to letters, but I’ll do my best… And read a lot for both of us, yeah?”

Fili smiled despite the tightness of his throat. He breathed into the side of Kili’s face, memorizing the warmth, the emerging stubble prickling his nose and lips. “How many books are you talking?” It was easier to talk of the things that didn't really matter.

“Depends on how much longer we’re in this war,” Kili shrugged. “But when it’s over, I’m going to take you away and do nothing but listen to your voice retell all those stories for at least a month.”

The absurdity of the conversation they were having, and the fact that he wanted nothing more than for Kili’s plan to come true, made Fili snort against Kili’s jaw. “I’m going to be either hoarse or out of books before a month is up.”

“If it comes to that, there will be other things we could do.”

“You’re not giving me much incentive for reading then,” Fili retorted. They were both smiling, but the hollow ache in the pit of Fili’s stomach was worming its way deeper, threatening to steal away the remaining willpower that he needed for tomorrow. 

“Either way, Goldsmith. I don’t care what we do. But I’ll find you.” Kili kissed him again, long and slow, more like he wanted to fall into Fili than anything else, and it was the last kiss, that much was clear.

 

No. 64 squadron had been tasked with patrolling the Scottish coast, and so Fili’s new life under Squadron Leader Ironfoot started much calmer. The dramatic vistas of the north were quite a change from the his previous hunting grounds, and the level of danger also dropped somewhat. His new squadron mates accepted him with little hesitation; he was, after all, a tried pilot and not a complete newcomer straight out of flight training; sure, there was the new round of teasing for his accent and it took a while to really fall in with them, but he tried, despite the heaviness that he couldn't shake. 

It helped, in an odd way, that the first few months after leaving squadron 54 he was not able to so much as look at a book. He tried opening one a few times, a volume he and Kili had bought during their time in Yorkshire – but after a few lines, he closed it again. Without the dark haired man leaning against him and listening, it seemed as if all purpose had evaporated from the activity. 

Summer slid into autumn, autumn into winter. Fili had written to Kili a few times, and in the meantime, kept a close eye on news of the other squadron’s doings. He found himself unable to touch casualty lists that came out in newspapers – they were usually published with some delay, so that families could be notified by telegram first, but since Fili would receive no such announcement in case anything happened to Durin, the printed lists would be his only source of information. Yet even when he dared skim the columns of names with dread and hope and held breath, he could not bring himself to read the parts where Kili’s name might appear. Every short letter from Kili, written in a quick scrawl, was a form of reassurance, but the next day, the anxiety crept back, seeping energy out of him even when he wasn’t consciously aware of it.

It was Christmastime when Ironfoot made quite an unexpected announcement to his men, and Fili stared in disbelief at his commander while everyone around him supposed he'd be the one celebrating the news. When he made it back to his room that night, he penned his shortest letter to Kili yet, chest full of indignation and fingers shaking: ‘Goddammit, Kili, they are shipping us to Australia. Loading up in less than a month.’

The war had spread into the Pacific, and Britain was sending several squadrons down under to show their support. Fili knew his family would be relieved to have him that much closer to home. And yet. What little hope he had for seeing Kili on leave once in a while, or perhaps of being stationed closer at some point, had been yanked away.

Durin replied a few days later – his missive equally short and more scrawly than usual – ‘Oh for god's sake. I can't fucking believe it. Tried to beg off leave but wasn’t possible – can you??’

But Fili already knew that he won’t be able to get away; even if their embarking day wasn't set in stone, there were no leave passes issued anymore as the preparations for their transfer intensified. 

The troop ship, a former ocean liner Queen Mary, now refitted for a new purpose, met the squadron in Gourock, Scotland and loaded them all, pilots and ground crew and Spitfires. Fili was aware that he should be glad, or appear to be; people kept clapping him on his back, congratulating him for getting stationed so much closer to his home. Fili responded with “yeah, sure, it’s fantastic”, but he could barely breathe as he watched the horizon disappear from view.

Somewhere around Cape Town, tired and overheated in the cramped ship, something snapped in him and sat down he wrote a list of all the books he and Durin had read together in a journal, starting with the Hemingway. Then he picked up one of the novels he had jammed into his on-board bag with little conviction he'd actually touch them, but it felt like it was all he had left of Kili now that they were not on the same soil anymore. He opened the book - a king Arthur story called The Sword and the Stone – and, imagining that it wasn’t the hot breeze that tickled his arm but Durin’s dark brown locks, he was finally able to lose himself in the words and pages once more.


	4. Through Adversity to the Stars

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can't give enough thanks to all you people who read, sent kudos, and commented on this story - it was my ultimate motivation to get this finished. It took longer than I thought it would to write this last chapter, but I hope you all enjoy it despite the longer wait!!
> 
> Through Adversity to the Stars, the title of this chapter, is the RAF official motto :)

Fili had finished two volumes by the time the Queen Mary delivered the squadron to Australian shores. It was the end of summer on the continent, and the lingering heat didnt' bring any relief to the men as they disembarked in Melbourne from the overcrowded ship. Fili’s first footsteps on firm ground felt as heavy and unsteady as his heart, but while the sea legs only persisted for a few days, the weight around his heart didn’t lift. 

The journey had not been easy on their Spitfires either, and as soon as all the airplanes and cargo were unloaded, they continued on to an airfield in New South Wales to repair all damages and get the machines back up to battle readiness. After a month of inaction on board the ship, having a hands on task was a good change for them all, and Fili sweated willingly under the hot sun. The work helped him ignore the vast amount of miles that were between him and Durin, even if the dark-haired man never left his thoughts altogether. His rational mind kept insisting that it didn’t matter whether they were a hundred miles apart or a few thousand, distance was still distance. But where a letter across Britain might have taken a few days, now it would be a month at the very least, provided the ship carrying it didn’t get sunk by an enemy U-boat somewhere along its journey.

Of course he’d sent a letter to Kili as soon as they had arrived, but who knew if Durin had it yet, and how long it would take for a reply to reach Fili - especially as the final order came to ship the squadron up to Darwin, all the way in Australia’s tropical north. They’d missed February’s Battle of Darwin, but when they arrived at the end of May, the town still bore signs of heavy damage from the surprise attack by more than two hundred Japanese airplanes. More raids had come since then, and any further engagements would now be Fili’s squadron’s to deal with. In a way, Fili looked forward to some renewed purpose. At the very least, it made time go by, and he felt more alive while facing danger.

The first raid came a few days later, giving the unit little time to settle in their new life and a new climate. The Australian squadron they shared the airfield with congratulated them on arriving at the very end of the wet, rainy season, promising long months of mostly dry, sunny weather ahead. Which was a blessing, because Fili wasn’t sure how much rain the temporary huts they now lodged in could withstand. On the other hand, the hot, dusty conditions of the dry season were not exactly easy on the Spitfires, so they would all have to make adjustments and bear it as best as they could. 

At least the Aussies were friendly, and readily offered advice and banter. They had acquired their own Spitfires from the European and African theater some months ago, and they promised their British counterparts with good-natured grins that the freshly done repainting of camouflage they had to do in New South Wales would have to be often repeated. The new foliage green, earth brown and sky blue paints would fade very quickly under the harsh sun. Of course there was also rivalry between the squadrons, but after the first few missions and defensive sorties, there were also trips to Darwin’s pubs, and Fili, although on edge from the lack of communications from Kili so far, went with the other men, chatting easily with a few of the RAAF guys over unfamiliar beer.

It took another month for Kili’s next letter to reach Darwin. As if Durin was compensating for the protracted travel time they were doomed to now, his letter was the longest yet; the light tone not completely succeeding in covering up the heartache beneath. To Fili, the roughly two hundred words in chaotic penmanship were like a thin but pulsing thread of connection, extending all the way to faraway Britain. He sent a reply the following morning when he could make it to Darwin’s post office, and then stood in the beating sun outside the post office’s building, despairing over how long it would take for the small envelope to be received by Kili’s long, capable fingers, how long before his brown eyes could trace the shape of the words and reach the meaning behind them. Was Fili’s letter reassuring enough? Suddenly he panicked that he’d failed to make his ongoing feelings for Kili clear enough, and he almost ran inside again to demand his letter back so that he could rewrite it. He stopped himself, breathing hard and fast, clenching his fists and then shoving the inside of his wrists against his eyes to calm the racing thoughts. He hoped no one was around to witness his little moment of irrational doubt. 

The hope evaporated when a voice spoke behind him. “You alright there, Goldsmith?”

It was Greenleaf, one of the Australians stationed next to the 64. A tall, lithe blond man with smooth features and startling blue eyes, he’d chatted with Fili at the pub and around the airfield a dozen times in the last few weeks; now, there was none of the usual lightness in his tone as he watched the New Zealander startle. 

Before Fili could reply or politely decline to, Greenleaf walked all the way over. “Trouble home?” he asked sympathetically, and Fili shook his head. “No, everyone’s fine, just…” He waved a hand toward the post office, while cursing himself for adding that little dangling word; it meant an opening for more inquiry that he wasn’t sure he could handle with a brave front.

“Left a sweetheart in England?” the Aussie asked perceptively.

Fili nodded, even if it was slightly ridiculous to think of Kili as that. “Something like that, yeah.”

“Must take an awful time to get a letter to her, or from her, for that matter,” Greenleaf remarked neutrally. “She must mean a lot if you’re keeping it up from such a distance.”

Kili’s face conjured itself in Fili’s mind eye and for a second he got lost in Durin’s well-remembered features. “Yeah, he does,” he said absently, and then almost swallowed his own tongue in horror as he realized what he’d uttered. He cast around frantically for a solution: backtrack, deny, casually correct himself? His own expression had already quite perfectly given him away - he seemed to have a special talent for that - and Greenleaf saved him from the decision by inclining his head thoughtfully. “He, hmm? Another service member?”

There was no trace of judgment, of disapproval in the tall man’s face, and if Legolas was surprised, he had hidden it extremely well. Fili regarded him nervously, and then decided to take a leap of faith, hoping that his intuition about the other man being trustworthy wasn’t cheating him now when he answered: “Yeah. He’s a pilot, with the 54.”

“Damn, mate,” Greenleaf said, frowning. “That can’t be easy.”

“What in this war is?” Fili smiled bitterly, eyeing the other man. “You going to report me to Ironfoot?” 

Taken aback, Greenleaf shook his head. "Ah, nuts, Goldsmith, of course not. But I’m going to buy you a beer, you look like you could use one.”

The sun was just high enough in the sky for pubs to be opening so Fili let himself be lead to the nearest one, where they had a very early 10 o’clock beer and a shot, over both of which they became fast and firm friends. Having someone to talk to, to whom he could even mention Kili and the depth of his feelings for him, was a relief of immense proportions. 

 

If it hadn’t been for Legolas, Fili wasn’t sure how he’d have made it through the rest of 1942. Things got a bit better when letters between him and Kili slid into a more regular pattern, but the consequence of having expectations was a constant worry if a letter came later than usual. Kili wrote in the same unchanging scribble, which made Fili grin uncontrollably every time he received a letter, and Greenleaf soon knew how to recognize the glow the shorter blond had around him for the rest of such a lucky day. He didn’t tease, though, and his lips remained sealed about the secret he’d been let into. When Fili got buried in books too much, he’d draw him out of hiding, which sometimes only turned into Fili sitting alongside the rest of the guys from both squadrons, immersed in a long letter to Kili about the latest book he’d read and about the squadron’s comings and goings, while everyone else around him talked and joked around boisterously. 

1943 started, with little hope that the war would be ending anytime soon. To Fili, it seemed as if an unknown length of time was stretching in front of him, as endless as the Australian bush and desert, comfortless and harsh, its horizon ending in a shimmering blur that promised nothing but that he’d have to try and reach. He could not guess at the size, nor how long the crossing would take – it could go on for years before he reached the other end. He could, as well, perish mid-journey, without ever knowing whether he had gotten close to the end at all. He tolerated his daily duties with somber knowledge that they were just menial tasks meant to put away a few seconds of life, the sum of which would result in being that much closer to seeing Kili again, if Durin could find his way through his own desert as well. 

Stilll, there was plenty to do, and plenty of danger in Fili’s own corner of the world. The Spitfires were quickly getting battle-fatigued and faded from all their engagements, even after getting tropicalized for the harsh climate. Fili sometimes thought the ground crew performed miracles on the airplanes to keep them battle-efficient. As the allies fought through New Guinea and to the Solomon Islands, the strafing, intercepting and defensive missions seem endless while supplies were slow to reach them. 

Fili guessed it wasn’t any different in Europe for Kili’s squadron. British newspaper and mail now only made it here with at least a few week's delay; carried on mail ships and troop ships that traveled dangerous waters. Getting a letter meant elation, but it was bittersweet. Fili was always aware that the reassurance he was tucking into his shirt pocket might well be outdated and irrelevant. At most times, he couldn’t bring himself to read the printed RAF casualty reports, but in his weakest moments, when time and separation dragged like a sinking anchor on his every step and thought, he would peruse the sections of months-old papers and try to keep his heart alive when the letter C ran out and D began. But Durin’s name, so far, had not appeared anywhere he could read.

And so Fili traced Kili’s progress through the war in retrospect: when receiving a letter in June, he knew that in May Kili had still been alive; in the middle of August he received proof that Kili had made it to July 9th. The messages were more frequent but sliding back to short, almost matter-of-fact, yet even when Durin used fewer words, there was a seeping sense of quiet longing infused in them. ‘Those two nights won’t leave my mind alone’, one letter would mention; the next, ‘I can’t stand the sight of a book, but I want to send you about a million’. Sometimes, Kili would go so far as to despair openly – ‘I can’t stand to be this far from you, I need you, I'll always need you’.

Such raw admissions were rare, since they both tended to be reserved in their missives. Once in a while, though, they were as necessary as air and water as days and months added up; suddenly it was 1944 and they haven’t seen each other in three years. The front seemed to be moving away from Fili and the Spitfire’s short range in the Pacific, but in Europe, it was the opposite: mid-way through the year, the invasion through Normandy was unleashed, and Fili’s concerns rose to a new high. 

As if on cue, the intervals between Kili’s letters started stretching out. Fili found himself distracted and increasingly desperate for news of his former squadron. In the end, unable to help himself, but unable to do the job either, he asked Greenleaf to keep an eye on Durin’s name in the papers. 

1944 ended, and around Christmas there was a long letter from Kili from France. Fili put it into the book he was currently reading – staring more at Kili’s writing than the actual printed word as rain hit the roof off his hut and the light bulb flickered in and out. 

After that, until the beginning of April, nothing.

The war was entering its final phase, or so they all hoped, and Fili pleaded with the universe for a word from Kili, about Kili, anything – it would be stupid if anything happened to him now, but he just needed to know –

Then a letter, dated in mid-January in France. It brought precious little relief, but Fili replied right away, then sat in the common room playing cards with the other guys, for a while choosing to forget all worry. The next afternoon, he and five others were called out to intercept a possible enemy bomber with escorts. Fili was exhausted when he returned to the airfield; it was threatening rain again, so he made straight for his living quarters to escape getting wetter than necessary. He’d barely took off his jacket when there was a knock at the door and Greenleaf stepped in, the first heralds of rain glistening on his hair and forehead. He was carrying a folded newspaper page under his arm.

“How did the mission go?” he asked, and Fili shrugged. “Made the bomber turn around and drop his cargo in the sea, then kicked the escorts’ ass and his.”

Greenleaf nodded with a grim smile. “Too easy.”

Fili thought something was off with his friend’s smile, but then Legolas unfolded the sheet and handed it to him, and the kiwi understood.

It didn’t take him long to find the entry. Before he even reached it, Legolas said in hardly more than a whisper: “I’m sorry, Fili.”

Out of all the dreaded acronyms, the one typed up next Durin’s name, rank, and assigned unit wasn’t the worst one. It wasn’t KIA, or DOW. It wasn't the dreadful POW one either. But it didn’t offer any solace, as if anything printed on this page could have, because it brought uncertainty, ambiguity, a thinly veiled suspicion. Kili was MIA – missing in action, as of February 15.

Fili heard the rain pick up pace outside and on his hut’s roof, but it was as if someone else was hearing the raindrops' drumming. He stared at the three letters as if there was any hope they would rearrange or fly off the page with Kili’s name in tow. A horrible, clawing emptiness spread through him. 

Missing in action - it usually meant an unseen death. It meant that Kili hadn’t come back from a mission, but no one’s actually seen his plane go down. But that didn’t mean it didn’t happen. 

Kili-

His Kili. Unaccounted for.

There was a hand on Fili’s shoulder, and he shook under it’s touch, unable to contain himself, ashamed for it and angry for caring. 

“There’s still a chance he's alive,” Greenleaf pointed out quietly. “If he’d jumped out, maybe he was taken prisoner and we just haven’t seen that.”

Fili nodded. “Yeah.” He sounded strange to himself, hollow.

“Do you want me to stay with you?” Legolas asked. 

A shake of a head. “No - no, thank you.”

Legolas opening the door sent raindrops onto the dried mud on Fili’s floor. Greenleaf glanced at him once more before he hitched up his collar against the downpour and disappeared into it. Fili was alone.

At least the night was filled with other sounds, so no one could witness the first uncontrolled outburst of anguish. 

Later, exhausted but under no illusions that sleep might be a possibility, he stared up into the darkness and wondered if all he’d ever have left of Durin would be a box of letters, a list of books he’d read with him and for him, and a year’s worth of memories. Along with the gaping void in his soul.

Sometimes past midnight, when the rain had tapered off to a gentle pattering, Fili made the only choice that could give him purpose for the rest of the war. As soon as the fighting was over – and it had to be, judging from the steady advance of the allies on all fronts – he was going to make his way back to Europe and find out what had happened to Kili. He’d be happy to never see Oakenshield again, but if he or whoever was in command of the 54 at the end of the war were still alive, he’d hunt them down and not rest until he knew.

 

The rainy season finally abated at the end of May, but the dark current of despair hadn't left Fili, no matter how much Legolas insisted that he should hold on to some hope. It didn't help that most of the men were battle-weary to the extreme, jaded and stressed and tired, waiting with baited breath for the final efforts of war to end, reluctant to go on missions. Fili didn't mind so much, and he and Legolas often went out together, carrying out their orders with grim determination. The level of immediate danger in their area had abated, but one could not completely discount it.

As if to prove that it was not yet time to relax, one gorgeously dry sunny day over the Timor Sea, he and Greenleaf were returning along the coast from a patrol flight when out of nowhere, three Japanese airplanes ambushed them. They were a rare sight along the coast these days, engaged as the Japs were by the Allies further up in the Pacific, but it wasn't unheard of, and they didn’t hesitate to open fire. Greenleaf swerved out of the way of the oncoming bullets, but Fili was a fraction too slow; he felt his Spitfire receive the shocks of a round of fire. The airplane staggered, although Fili wasn’t sure if that was the engine or his own hands. 

He regained control of himself long enough to change course, and one of the Japs came into his line of fire unexpectedly. He pushed the trigger and managed to get a few shots in before he knew for a fact that his airplane had bought it enough to give out at any moment. He could barely keep it level. 

Somewhere to his left, Greenleaf had already dispatched one of the enemy fighters, and was making quick work of the second: besides Kili, Legolas was one of the most efficient pilots Fili’d ever seen. He connected them over the radio and said, “Nice shot there, Greenleaf. Sorry I have to leave this fun party, but my ride is failing.”

“Hang in there,” Legolas shouted. “I’ll take out the one you made a dent in and be right on your heels.”

“Thanks for cleaning up after me,” Fili replied, already calculating whether he could make it over land high enough to bail out safely; it was infinitely more desirable than to chance the sea waves. He wasn’t sure at all if the Spitfire could make it. The land line approached slower than he wanted to, but he was reluctant to get out just yet, waiting a few more seconds, then another few. “Come on, come on,” he chanted, pushing the airplane forward mentally as well as with all his skill. The engine was smoking.

Then Legolas came on the waves of the radio telephone again. “Got them all, just for you,” he joked. “Now be a good man and get out of the plane, you’re losing height.”

“I can make it to the beach,” Fili assured him, but he knew already that he was going to be too low when he got there. Emergency landing would be quite impossible with how unstable the aircraft had become. 

It started tilting sideways, and suddenly Greenleaf was screaming into the R/T. “Get out, Goldsmith, get out right now!”

With an immense effort, Fili righted the plane again. He was almost over land now, but the nose of the Spitfire wanted to dip. Again Fili fought to correct it, but there was almost no power left. He reached for the frame of the hatch to push it open, steeling himself for whatever landing awaited him. 

Then a sudden hesitation came over him, taking over his racing heart and thoughts. With his eyes fixed straight ahead, he thought of staying in, hurtling down in his machine and letting it all end – maybe that was the way to find Kili for sure? Maybe Kili was already waiting for him in whatever came beyond – if anything followed at all after this strange, painful, beautiful existence… He ached suddenly for the struggle to be over, to just rest somewhere quiet, undisturbed, with Kili alongside him –

“Fili, goddammit!”

He jolted out of the numb state and reality slammed into him in an instant, along with a flood of panic that pushed him into action. He threw the hatch open and pushed himself out of the aircraft just before it went into a fatal nosedive. As soon as he was clear of it, he tugged desperately on his parachute to get it unfolded. 

One look down was enough to know that he had waited too long. The ground was close, rising up to meet him too fast, he was not slowing down enough –

He heard the Spitfire explode not far off. For a short time he glided, wind catching the parachute and easing the fall, but he thought he was still dropping too fast, and he tried but failed to avert his eyes as the beach slammed into him. 

The sand did little to cushion him. The impact knocked all air out of his chest and he rolled along the ground, once, twice turning over until he was lying flat on his back, unable to breathe. He cast out for air, and when his lungs finally expanded, he erupted with pain all over, unable to pinpoint what precisely was wrong because it felt as if everything was.

He stared up at the sky, eyes wide. Then, he could not tell how much later, someone was at his side, cutting off the parachute, kneeling by his head, cushioning him. Blond hair appearing from under a helmet thrown off, blue piercing eyes. “Help’s not far off,” a soothing voice said with a tremor creeping in. “Hold on.”

“That was stupid of me,” Fili gasped out over the pain in his ribs, in his legs.

“What the devil where you thinking?” Greenleaf said, not angry anymore, just agreeing in a tired voice.

“That maybe Kili’s already there, waiting for me - on the other side...“ Every breath, every word brought more agony, more than Fili ever imagined one human being could hold. Quite morbidly, he felt the need to explain himself to his friend through its grip.

“He might still be alive, don’t be an idiot -” A gentle admonishment that made Fili almost smile. But then he closed his eyes instead. 

 

When he woke up, there were white, starchy sheets under him instead of sand. Otherwise, things were the same: every single part of his body hurt. He seemed to be in a hospital, but he was too shocked by the pain to confirm this theory by taking in more of his surroundings. He thought bitterly that if he was destined to die in excruciating pain, it would have been much preferable to do so under a clear blue sky rather than below this ugly gray ceiling with a water stain above his bed. 

A confirmation came a moment later when an older female voice said: “Call Dr. Grayhame to post-op, tell him Goldsmith is awake.” Then a slightly wrinkled round face, lined by blond-white hair, leaned over him. “Welcome back, young man. Just a moment, the doctor will see you and then you can get some more morphine for the pain.”

Fili would have answered politely, but all he could manage was a gasp. The doctor rushed over, assessing him, speaking in a light tone but with deep concern in his eyes, and Fili thought he should be troubled by this. He would be, but pain consumed all, speech, thought, and feeling, and he didn’t remember much of what the doctor said. Finally, ten minutes later, he was falling back asleep with the help of drugs, the pain fading blissfully.

He woke a few more times from the heavy medicated sleep, and it seemed each time that the pain had retreated by a slight margin. During those brief alert periods, the doctor explained that Fili had suffered numerous fractures, some internal bleeding that luckily wasn’t too serious, and a lung pierced from broken ribs. All that said, he seemed to be healing; he would have to take it step by step and hope that all his bones grew back together properly. Many parts of his body were immobilized to help the process, which meant humiliating procedures each day to ensure that he was clean and his bodily functions maintained. He had been lucky, though, Grayhame reminded him on multiple occasions, that his spine and head had been mostly spared in the fall; they’d still have to wait a little while though to see what long-term effect his injuries would have.

June passed in recovery, and slowly July approached. Greenleaf came whenever he could, as did other guys from the 64. They brought news, Fili’s mail – all from his family now – and books, but Fili couldn’t bring himself to touch any of it. It was like after the first time he had to leave Kili, like the time he had to sail from Britain; his mind was numb, and words held no attraction or sense. One thing he did focus on, though: with the peace in Europe , it had to be just a matter of time till war wrapped up in the Pacific as well. So far, the Japs had not yet capitulated, but it couldn’t go on for much longer. As soon as there was ceasefire here and his unit released him, he had to get on a ship for Europe to search for clues as to what happened to Kili. For that, he had to heal, so he poured all his dogged determination into it until doctor Grayhame admonished him to take it easy, that pushing himself was doing his body no favors. It wasn’t until one of his bones had to be reset and until he caught the flu that ravaged his body for two weeks that he listened. 

When the infection finally abated and the re-fixed bone started showing signs of fusing properly, it was almost middle of July. For the past two weeks, he’d had accumulated some more letters. The nurses had been offering to open and read his mail for him while he was sick, but he’d been riddled with such headaches that all he had craved was silence, and besides, he wasn’t comfortable with the idea anyway. Even if there wasn’t anything – there couldn’t be anything possibly revealing anymore, since Kili didn’t send letters any longer-

He sighed and picked up the small pile, with hands still quite weak and uncoordinated. He was in no mood to read any of them, but he rifled through them slowly, recognizing the authors by their penmanship. There was one from his sister, probably with another drawing from the now five year old nephew Fili had never met; one from his mother, which was her usual valiant attempt at trying not to sound worried out of her mind for him. The next one –

Fili paused.

It’s been months since he’d seen this handwriting on an envelope addressed to him, and the emotions it instantly revived felt like a kick in the stomach as they filled him with intense, achy longing. Could it mean –

He crushed the hope before it could take root, because disappointment after all this time would have been too much to bear. This had to be another delayed letter, like the one he’d received two months after Kili’s MIA date; in the chaos that had reigned in Europe this spring and summer, who cared about delivering letters? 

He glanced at the water-stained, smudged stamp, letters and dates bleeding out of the range of readability, then stared at his own name written out by the man he loved. Hot tears which he hadn’t invited but which he couldn’t stop flooded his face. He wanted to feel Kili next to him, the weight of him against him own body that still remembered the sensations, the touches, the painfully beautiful look in Kili’s eyes during that first night at the sea side hotel. He fell back onto his pillow, too tired to cry properly, but it didn’t matter, because crying wasn’t going to change anything, it wasn’t going to make Kili alive and well, it wasn’t going to miraculously carry the presumably dead pilot out of MIA status and across the oceans to Fili. The stain on the ceiling had to be laughing at him: Maybe he should have stayed in the plane after all, gone up in smoke on the beach… He clutched the letter to his chest, letting the tears abate of their own accord. 

When they did, he tucked the envelope into the topmost unread book on his bedside table and set his jaw tight. There was a boat ticket to Europe with his name on it somewhere, and he was going to get a hold of it in the shortest time possible, in order to find where Kili had gone down, in order to say goodbye. 

 

He made steady progress towards recovery over the following week getting on his feet bit by bit, and at the end of July he could finally go outside for careful walks, muscles made stronger by gentle exercise and a constant flow of heartening food. His favorite nurse, soft spoken, black-haired Arwen, was in charge of these outings, and would wheel him out onto the hospital grounds to coax him to walk a bit further each time. 

The fresh air had been a shock at first after weeks spent in one room, but it gave Fili heart to be under the sun again, even if he felt as weak as a fly. Some afternoons, Greenleaf would come to visit, distracting the kiwi from concentrating too much on the frustration of his walking attempts. So when the Aussie called out to Fili one afternoon as he came up from behind him and Arwen, Fili didn’t think very much of it and continued on his slow way along the cracked pavement with just the nurse’s assistance – he was finally without crutches.

“Goldsmith, I see you’re looking a bit steadier today,” Legolas hollered. “That’s just as well – I brought you a visitor.”

Fili answered without turning around. “Tell them to come back when a five minute’s walk doesn’t make me want to puke,” he joked, waiting for the other man to catch up to him.

“I don’t think that the whole allied army could make this one wait another minute,” Greenleaf said, and something in his voice stopped Fili and made him whirl around as fast as his weak legs would allow.

By some strange undeserved miracle, his knees didn’t give out at the sight that greeted him. His heart almost did, though, and quite unconsciously he tightened his hold on Arwen’s arm to steady himself-

Five paces behind his Australian friend, a tall brunet stood. He was thin and pale, his uniform faded and crumpled, but he seemed to be positively vibrating with energy as joy and horror fought for the upper hand in his expression. But his features – Fili would know them anywhere. 

“Kili?” he rasped. His heart wouldn’t stop doing flips inside his rib cage, robbing him of breath, as he stared at the vision in front of him in awe.

Kili took a hesitant step forward. “Christ, Fili, what did you get yourself hurt like that for?” he said, a stunned entreaty in his voice. “God, I had no idea…”

Fili struggled to find his own voice, to push it past the tight constriction in his throat. “Me?!? You were – I thought you were-“

The realization that Kili was here, almost within reach, hit him full force and he wavered, his knees almost giving out this time. Arwen made a small noise of surprise and tried her best to steady him, and then there was another firm pair of arms around him. Fili felt the nurse release her hold of him and slip out of the way, and then it was just Kili, crushing the blond man to himself. 

“I’m not,” Durin whispered hoarsely, pressing his mouth next to Fili’s ear. “I sent a letter, did you get it? I explained… I got shot down over Germany, but I managed to hide next to a farm until Patton’s 3rd army took over the town, and then made my way back to the squadron…”

Vaguely, Fili was aware that both Greenleaf and the nurse had retreated, leaving them alone. He pushed his face into Kili’s shoulder, inhaling him as relief rushed his senses like a tidal wave. 

“I thought the letter was old, from before you went missing, and I didn't open it, I couldn't bear... I’m such a bloody idiot…” Then he remembered that moment just before his own plane went down, when he had almost made this reunion impossible with his inaction, and he clutched at Kili harder. “I almost messed everything up, I’m so sorry…”

Kili shook his head. “You didn't... We're here now, it's almost over... Can you walk? Let’s get you to a bench, I don’t want to give your nurse any reason to come back for you yet.”

 

Arwen got into the habit of sneaking Kili into the ward after hours, so the two could sit and talk together, or just lean onto each other and share the same space in quiet contentment. Kili recounted again his misadventures after being shot down during an attack on a German train, and Fili told him in turn about how he got his own injuries, leaving out nothing. Inevitably, talk turned to future as well, although the topic made Fili’s insides twist with uncertainty. Carefully, he suggested they go back to Britain and try and figure out what to do next, but Kili had already forged a different plan.

“I was wondering, actually, if you think the New Zealand Air Force could possibly want me? You could put a good word in for me...”

Fili stared at him, wide-eyed and surprised. Thoughts lined up in his head, cascading out before he could organize them. “You want to – New Zealand? Oh god, Kili, they’d be fools not to have you, but – it’s not exactly – you’d give up the RAF, I mean – New Zealand? That’s not much of a career, you could do so much better – you’d… you’d do this?”

Kili smiled up one side of his face. “Well, I thought you and I could –“

“What about your family?”

Kili’s expression slid towards bitterness. “My family can shove it. They know what – who I am. My mother thought – these are her words – that maybe after the war I’d be ‘normal’ again and start a family, but when I wrote to her that I wasn’t going to change, she said I was going to break her heart all over again.” Kili shrugged off Fili’s look of sympathy, not concerned anymore. “I want to go with you, Fili. Nothing’s holding me in Britain, and you have family in New Zealand, one that maybe cares less about who you love and more about the fact that you’re alive.”

Fili pulled him tighter to his side. “Yeah. I think they do – we’ll see. But we’ll see together, if that’s what you want.”

 

Upon his release from the hospital, Fili had to return to the 64, but there was no more fighting, no more missions. Four days later, the announcement came that Japan had surrendered. 

The war was over. 

There were still things to wrap up, decisions to be made whether the squadron was going to be disbanded, same as Kili’s was at the end of May. Fili was expected at the airfield, but he had a lot more free time. Celebrations were everywhere. Kili, in the meantime, rented a room in town, a small place above a tailor’s shop, and he stole Fili away there as soon as humanly possible. It was their first time together that was not at the hospital or the base, the first time they could be truly alone, and Fili could feel the excitement and thrill crawl up his spine as Kili closed the door behind them on the small square room.

It was as if the four years of separation had not happened. In the complete silence of the room, they kissed until they gasped for breath, then Kili pulled Fili to the bed and onto it and climbed on top of him, and Fili was lost, trembling from the way Kili looked at him, making him forget the long months of emptiness and ache. He pulled the brunet down and under himself, stripping them both and kissing every inch of skin that he could reach, the need to touch stronger than to be touched at the moment. Kili’s body rose up to meet the kisses and touches, whispered pleas falling from his lips until Fili covered his mouth with his, lacing their fingers together and pulling himself up over the younger pilot’s body, over and in. Kili gasped and groaned into his shoulder, opening himself to more of everything, begging for his needs to be satisfied. Fili paid attention to every little sound, every word, and he found it as easy as he remembered to follow Kili’s own clues on the quest to make him see stars. There could be no purer pleasure than giving pleasure, he thought distractedly as he brought Kili to the very edge of completion, held him there for one breathless, sobbing moment, and then pushed him over the precipice, following quickly behind.

Hours later, when they should have been sleeping but lay instead on the sweaty covers side by side, calm and reassured and too glad to be together to drift off just yet, Fili turned to look at the brunet next to him. Kili’s head instinctively mirrored the movement to meet his gaze. 

“Do you think we can do it? Have a life together, you and I?” Fili asked into the quiet darkness around them. There was perhaps a note of returning worry in his voice, and he hated its presence.

Kili gave the tiniest smile, his eyes glistening dimly. “Oh god, I hope so…” He searched Fili’s eyes, then rolled to his side, his warm palm shifting up to grasp Fili’s hand on the blond’s stomach. “We’ve managed to not get killed over six years of this bloody war, how hard can regular life be?”

 

*** Epilogue: New Zealand, 1956 ***

Fili stepped out to the front porch as soon as he heard the tires of Kili’s truck crunching on the long gravel driveway. It was Friday and the evening was already gathering its grey and indigo hues on the horizon; for the past ten years, this has been Fili’s favorite part of every week. He felt a familiar stirring of excitement in his stomach at the first sound of Kili returning from the air base an hour and a half away where he lived and worked from Monday to Friday.

The brunet hopped out of the red vehicle the moment it came to a full stop and bounded up the stairs towards Fili with his usual energy, catching him into a hug against the banister. Fili found himself responding to Kili’s kiss with matching fervor, until he broke it off with an impatient question: “You didn’t forget to pick up the dress uniforms?”

Kili’s smile stretched from ear to ear. “No worries, they’re in the truck.”

Fili grinned in relief, glancing towards the back seat as if to confirm, then again at the brunet. “So, are you all ready for tomorrow? Will you be able to live without flying from now on?”

“I’ll have to give it a try, won’t I?” Kili replied. “But hey, before I forget. I stopped by the library in town on the way home, and Betty said she could use someone to fix a few things and just help out a bit, so I told her I’d be over a few times next week…”

Fili raised his eyebrows. “I thought you were going to not do anything for a while after retiring.”

“I won’t do much,” Kili assured him. “It’s just a favor… But maybe I can get my foot in the door and get a job there one day?” He winked at the blond like a naughty faun.

“A second career as a librarian?” Fili’s eyes danced with amusement. “How fitting. As long as you don’t bring any more retired books in the house, I think the floor in the study is about to cave in.”

“I bet it can handle a few hundred more... So, how was your week? Everything going well here?”

Fili nodded. “Just got a few things finished around the farm so we don’t have that much to do after your ceremony.”

“Hmm, I like that,” Kili breathed into the blond man’s hair, pulling him closer again. “I never want to be without you again, not for a week, not for a month, not for a year.”

Fili let their embrace linger, Kili's words washing away the last tugs of fear that Kili, now wearing a much higher rank and many more awards than when they met, would be enticed at the last moment to stay for another five or ten years in the service. He’d been training pilots for the last decade and managed to not be sent to Korea, but with a war flaring up in Vietnam, Fili was all too glad to see Kili on the civilian side of life. It was time; he himself had left the force right after the war when they bought the house and the land, and the prospect of having Kili around all the time and not just on weekends was disgustingly appealing. 

It had turned out, despite some initial doubts, that they could make this life together work.

He pulled away from the younger man. “Come on, dinner’s ready. Bring the uniforms in and let’s get you presentable for tomorrow, Group Captain Durin.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I couldn't resist adding the little epilogue, because I'm a sucker for complete happiness :D Also, I'm not sure where Greenleaf came from, he just decided to show up as a much needed friend to Fili. I have no idea why him :D
> 
> Meanings of the abbreviations on the casualty lists (some of them mentioned above):  
> KIA - Killed In Action  
> DNB - Death Non-Battle  
> MIA - Missing In Action  
> POW - Prisoner Of War  
> DOW - Died Of Wounds  
> FOD - Finding Of Death (usually issued after someone has been missing for over a year)
> 
> Also, RAF = Royal Air Force, RAAF = Royal Australian Air Force

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you for reading! Thoughts?


End file.
